Waiting On You
Page 32

Their next stop was the bakery. Lorelei, the owner, had advertised for an apprentice baker; apparently she supplied quite a few of the local restaurants with bread and desserts. “Hi, guys!” she said with a sunny smile. “Bryce, what happened to your hand?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, proudly holding up the heavily bandaged extremity. Honestly, amputees used less gauze. “Put a nail through my hand when my cousin and I were doing this job up on the Hill.”
“You poor thing,” she said, melting a little as Bryce stepped closer to show her his boo-boo.
“You’re looking for help, Lorelei?” Lucas asked.
“Yes! Do you know anyone?”
“Bryce might be interested, right, buddy?”
“Sure,” Bryce said amiably.
“Really?” Lorelei said, blushing. “Wow. That’d be...that’d be great.”
“So long as I don’t have to get up too early,” Bryce said with a wink.
“Bryce,” Lucas warned.
Lorelei wrung her hands. “Actually, you’d have to be here at four.”
“That’s not too bad,” Bryce said.
“Really?” Her face lit up again.
“No, not at all. I’d get a dinner break, right?”
“Four in the morning, Bryce.” Lucas sighed.
Bryce looked incredulous. “You actually wake up at four?”
“No,” she said. “I wake up at three-thirty.”
“Man! Hey, you going to Paulie’s this weekend? We could hang out, maybe.” Code for hook up, of course.
And that was another thing.
Colleen’s little matchmaking plan.
The Petrosinskys were hosting a cookout, and half the town—almost literally—had been invited.
The bell over the door rang, and speak of the devil—the gorgeous, gray-eyed devil—in she came, along with Faith.
“Hi, Lorelei!” Faith said with the same joy expressed by those reuniting after decades of war. “Got any chocolate croissants today?”
“I sure do,” Lorelei said. “Hi, Colleen!”
“Hello, good people of Manningsport,” she said. “And, Lucas, always such a delight to see you. Got a sweet tooth?”
“For some things, I do,” he murmured.
“Oh, my God, are you flirting with me? Give me a second to take off my panties, and I’m yours. Lorelei, I’ll have one of those black-and-white cookies, okay?” But she was blushing, and didn’t look him in the eye.
Faith was already halfway through her pastry. Rumor had it she was eating for two, and Lucas smiled at her. Good old Faith. “What are you boys doing today?” she asked.
“Just hanging out,” Bryce said.
“Bryce is looking for work,” Lucas said. “Got anything at the vineyard, Faith?”
“Actually, Bryce has already tried working for Blue Heron,” she said. “It didn’t quite work out.”
“Afraid not,” he said amiably. “I was in the tasting room. I got a little drunk, I guess. Honor fired me after my first day. She’s kinda scary, isn’t she?”
“You passed out behind the bar, Bryce,” Faith said, a hint of admonition in her voice.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He shrugged happily. “You guys make great wine.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?” Colleen asked.
“Something creative and where I can make my own hours and help people,” Bryce said, and Lucas rolled his eyes.
“I can get you a job,” Colleen said.
“Really?” Bryce shot Lucas a nervous look.
“Sure.”
Lucas waited. Colleen raised her eyebrows, looking at him and not Bryce.
Ah. He got it.
“Bryce, go get a cookie,” he said. When Bryce was out of hearing range, he turned back to Colleen. “What will it cost me?” he asked.
“You agree not to meddle with him and Paulie.”
“Are we going to have this argument again?”
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Waited.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. It’s a deal,” he said. At least he could tell Joe his son had a job, and that was something.
“Okay, Bryce,” Colleen said. “Come with me. Faith, back in ten minutes, hon.”
She took Bryce by the arm and towed him out of the shop. Lucas followed. A couple was approaching the bakery, a little baby strapped to the woman’s chest in a complicated harness.
“Colleen!” the woman cried. “How are you?”
“Oh, hi, guys! Look at her! She’s so beautiful!” Colleen peered at the baby. Lucas did, too. Cute little bugger, a tuft of black hair on the tiny head, perfect little ears. Colleen let go of Bryce, and he wandered a bit down the street, eating his cookie.
Colleen turned to Lucas. “Lucas, meet Jordan and Tate Lawrence, and their beautiful little girl, Colleen.”
“We named her after Colleen,” the guy explained, grinning. “Since she fixed us up.”
“There’d be no little Colleen without this Colleen,” the woman added. As if on cue, she reached for her husband’s hand.
“You two are so cute together!” Colleen gushed with a significant look at Lucas. “Have a great day!”
She waited until the little family went inside. “Another couple I can claim. I should be a professional. Want me to find someone for you, Lucas, dear?”
“Pass.”
“You know how many babies there are in Manningsport named Colleen?” she asked smugly. “Seven. Seven, Lucas. That’s one one-hundredth of the population, named after me with joy and gratitude because I fixed up Mommy and Daddy, and that even includes two boys.”
“Boys named Colleen?” Bryce asked.
“No. One is Colin, the other is Cole, but we all know who they’re talking about. Me. Come on. Bryce! Come! Over here, across the street. In we go.”
Window boxes, which seemed required if you were a shopkeeper in Manningsport, spilled over with blue and orange flowers. The pink-and-gold sign said Happily Ever After. “To the dress store?” Bryce asked.
“Yep.” She opened the door and ushered them in. White dresses. Pink couches. More white dresses. Lots of sparkle.
A woman about their age came into the foyer, and her face lit up. “Colleen! How are you?”
“Hi, Gwen! How’s it going?”
“Fantastic,” the woman said. “Can I get you some wine? Coffee? A foot rub? Clean your house for you?” She and Colleen laughed merrily.
Colleen gave Lucas a smug smile. “I’ve sent a bride or two Gwen’s way,” she said.
“Or two? Or a dozen, more like it! Honestly, your dress is going to be free when the day comes.”
“And I’ll pick out a winner. Anyway, Gwen, I’m wondering if you can help me. Bryce here is looking for work.”
“Really?” Gwen asked with a frown. Bryce smiled. So far, no objections from him.
“I know how busy you are,” Colleen said.
“That’s true. But I’m not sure about, um, a straight guy.”
At that moment, the door to a dressing room opened, and a woman came out in—surprise—a wedding gown. Very poufy, and so tight you had to wonder how she’d sit down. Then again, Lucas knew enough about women to know that comfort was pretty low on the list when it came to dressing up.
“Hey. How you doing?” Bryce said. “You look amazing.”
“Um...hi. Really?” the woman said nervously. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you kidding? This is...yeah.” He nodded appreciatively.
“I do like it,” the bride said, fluffing the skirt as she looked in the mirror. “It’s just that I’m not sure. There was this dress I saw in Buffalo—”
Bryce shook his head. “I don’t know what that one was like, but this one just rocks it. Your guy is really, really lucky. Wow. You are beautiful.”
The bride glanced at Bryce and smiled. Looked back at herself.
Gwen and Colleen exchanged a look.
Ten minutes later, Gwen had sold an eight-thousand-dollar dress and Bryce had a job.
Okay, so it might not be the profession Lucas would’ve picked—bridal-gown consultant—but he wasn’t about to argue.
“This is so awesome, guys!” he said as they emerged into the sunlight. “And I get to look at beautiful women all day!” He held his hand up for a high five, and Colleen obliged. “Hey, I gotta run. Gonna go wash some doggies at the animal shelter.” He loped off down the street.
“You can thank me now,” Colleen said.
“Thank you, mía.”
Alongside the store was a little alley where they’d kissed once, before they’d been sleeping together, when things were still new. She had taken him by the hand and pulled him in here one summer night, that bittersweet summer between high school and college, and kissed him until his entire being throbbed with wanting her and he couldn’t form actual thoughts, reduced to the primal state of one need, with one girl.
This one.
He reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, trailing his finger along her earlobe.
“Knock it off,” she said unconvincingly, her voice husky.
He leaned in closer, nostalgia and present-day wanting getting the better of him.
Then her phone buzzed, and she jumped two feet backward. “Sign from God,” she said. “See you around, Spaniard.”
With that, she ran across the street to the bakery, to the safety of pastries and her friend.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE OF THE best things about Manningsport—aside from the vineyards and the green and the lake and the cute downtown and Lorelei’s cranberry-orange muffins, and O’Rourke’s, of course—was the town softball league. It was fifty-three years old and had the unusual tradition of mixing players of all ages and both sexes on the teams. It was fiercely competitive, however. Hey. It was New York.
To play on the team, you had to try out. In other words, you had to be good. Connor, Colleen and Savannah played for the O’Rourke’s team—Savannah was the youngest player in town history to make the team. The kid could hit.
And it was nice because Colleen and Connor got to play with their little sister. There weren’t too many occasions when the three of them did something together, as Connor kept his distance from Dad and Gail. The Friday night dinners were about it, so when it was game night, both Con and Colleen took the night off to demonstrate the O’Rourke supremacy.
Tonight, however, Stoakes Candy Store was short a player. As manager, Coll had made the great sacrifice and offered to play for the competition. She donned the candy store shirt; the Stoakes team’s slogan was an insipid Stoakes Candy & Baseball: A Sweet Deal. Not nearly as cool as her own team’s: O’Rourke’s: Smiting the Rest of You Since 2009. Because yes, they were always the town champs. Colleen was pretty great at baseball; Connor was better, and though it was Savannah’s first year, she had first round draft pick written all over her.
Savannah played in the regular Little League, too, but she loved the game and begged Dad and Gail to let her play on the town league, too. The more baseball, the better. At first, people had been kind of sweet to her, throwing soft pitches last summer...right up until they had to hit the dirt to avoid her wicked line drive. At the ripe old age of nine, Savannah could throw out a runner attempting to steal second. Her batting average was .378 this year, and that was hitting against grown men. On-base percentage? Please. .479.
It was a balmy night, Monica and Hannah were running the bar, Rafe manning the kitchen, though Con would go by later to obsess and micromanage and irritate their sous chef. Dad and Gail were here to see Savannah; Dad had not yet missed a game. Well, he hadn’t ever missed one of Savannah’s games. He’d missed plenty of hers and Con’s back in the day.